


Thrasher

by sp201120122013



Series: Dangerverse [6]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Animal Death, Cannibalism, Gen, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp201120122013/pseuds/sp201120122013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kobra Kid drags a dog into the mix of the gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrasher

"You're not keeping that thing. I hope you know."

"Bullshit I'm not," Kobra scowled, tugging tighter on the ragged piece of Leather he had wrapped around his hand. At the end of it, a large mangy dog snarled in the same pitch as Kobra's voice, angrily scratching his nails against the tile floor of the diner interior that the gang was currently camping out in.

"KK," Poison attempted again, sighing and slumping his chin into one hand, drumming his other set of fingers on the table. "We don't even have enough food for ourselves. You think we've got enough for a hundred pound goddamn dog?"

"You keep that curly headed mutt of your own around as a pet," Kobra said as he crouched down on his knees to scratch at the fLea bitten fur of the ugly, mangy beast he had somehow taught to heel beside him.

"That's Grace, she's a kid, you--" Poison didn't even attempt to continue arguing, just picked up the mug of thick, bitter coffee beside him to take a sip, make a suiting grimace. "You can't keep the dog. There's no way."

"Jet and Ghoul didn't say anything."

"Jet and Ghoul aren't home."

"Well, they'll like him when they get home. He's strong. He can help us fight Dracs," Kobra retorted smugly. "He'll probably do a better job than your scrawny ass."

"That dog is an ex-police mutt turned desert dog. You can't fuck with desert dogs, KK, they'll eat you without a second thought," Poison tried to explain. He knew Kobra wasn't hearing any reason, but they couldn't have that dog staying there. It was unheard of, a beast like that sleeping in their quarters. Even if it were kept outside, those dogs were known to run off of their Leashes. Of course, Poison probably should have taken heed to put Kobra on a shorter Leash to the base, too. There was never anything but trouble when his younger brother left the place.

"I already dug out his chip," KK scoffed at him. "I'm not stupid, look," he said, turning the dog over to reveal a thick, bloody gash in its thigh.

"What the hell were you--"

"Don't lecture me! I got it out, and it didn't bite me or anything."

"What, did you drug it?" Poison snapped.

"I gave it a can of grub. Dog let me do fucking anything once its snout got in that shit."

Poison was about to say something in return, but was cut off by the dog barking and growling roughly. Turning around, Poison saw Jet and Ghoul had returned from their own mission, with Ghoul's eyes widening as he very visibly recoiled from the 140 pounds of dog sitting on the tile.

"Wh-what is that?!" he exclaimed, making for his gun. Jet stopped his arm, repeating the question Ghoul had just asked.

"Why is there a desert dog in here?" he said slowly and cLearly. "Poison?" he asked, an eyebrow raising itself as it always did when Jet came across a margin of error in Poison's Leadership--unfortunately becoming more and more often, no thanks to the actions of Kobra.

"His name's Thrasher, and he's going to be part of the team now. Anyone got a problem?" Kobra said smugly, a sharp bark from the dog punctuating the end of his statement.

The rest of the group gaped at him, most of their eyes focused most warily on the dog. 

"Didn't think so," Kobra said, cLearly satisfied with himself.

\-----

The next few weeks passed with everyone but Kobra creeping around the base with great unease. Poison noticed the food supply dwindling faster than usual, but opted to grab Ghoul and make a break for the city to steal some new stock rather than confront his younger brother. Ghoul was more than happy to Leave, not that he had been around much in the first place. Since the dog arrived, he had spent a great deal of time at Pony and D's place, citing the need to "help them out" with broadcast and message deliveries. Jet didn't bother making up excuses, but chose to disappear instead--taking Grace with him. Grace had reacted with the most sympathy towards the dog, but the dog did not return her the same kindness. When she first met the dog, somewhat later than everyone else, it had immediately snapped at her eager hand, which would have been near torn off if Jet hadn't stepped in to quickly scoop her up and out of danger.

This hadn't shaken Kobra, of course, who had only laughed and scratched the dog's ears. Thrasher, as he referred to it, was kept locked in his room most of the time. Poison had creaked the door open once, checking to make sure Kobra hadn't been ripped apart, but instead saw his brother and the dog curled up around each other, both snoring loudly with thick drool tumbling down their respective chins. The room reeked of piss, and Poison wrinkled his nose up at the obvious puddle of it stewing in the corner. CLearly, Kobra didn't care enough to take the dog out on a regular enough basis. It could be that he was somehow immune to the stench, but it was more likely that he was just too lazy to bother with it. The dog barked out a rough cough, and Poison jumped back, immediately fearful. The thick, yellow teeth of the dog could be seen from the door, and the grayish tongue was lolling out, periodically licking them in between snores. Taking another step backwards, Poison quietly shut the door again and walked briskly away.

Ghoul couldn't walk fast away or far away enough, and even sitting in the safe basement of Dr. D's broadcast station, he was still shivering. Nestled between two large stacks of boxes, presumably stuffed with equipment, he was shaking violently, biting at his nails and nipping his fingertips in the process. He didn't do well with dogs. Dogs, dogs were bad news for him. From the stint in his old gang, he had arms full of scars, legs full of even more bites--some worse than others. When Dracs had come for them, they never pulled out guns. No, instead, the sixteen year old drug-smuggling urchin that he used to be got chased through the desert, screaming for his car full of comrades to stop for him, to turn back. They rarely ever did. It was always his legs that got the worst of it, the dogs snapping to pull the fabric from his knees, the straps from his boots as he struggled to climb up whatever higher place he could manage--usually the side of a trailer, abandoned out in the desert. Wrapping his arms tightly around his knees, his chest, the drugs still tucked within his vest, he panted in the heat until sundown, through sunset, often until sunrise the next morning when he could finally down, landing stiff in the sand with pawprints around his feet.

Ghoul really, really didn't like dogs.

Jet kept his distance from the base, and kept Grace distant with him. Given the similarity in the texture of their hair, it was easy for her to pass as his daughter. It gained him more sympathy wherever he took her, and helped to avoid some of the dirty looks she caught whenever she was out with the others--better to be taken for a daughter than a prostitute. Prostitutes in the zones were increasingly becoming prostitots, mostly roped in by kidnapping. There was a dark, ugly trade in the underbelly of the Zones, creeping into the city and snatching out daughters and sons from the poorer neighborhoods. It was why Jet kept her close and tight to him whenever he took her out, especially in the more populated, more bustling areas like the Zone eatery they were in now. He leaned over her protectively, glaring at anyone else who dared to watch her as she shoveled beans in her mouth, eagerly slurping up the creamy soup they were stirred into. She deserved something better than dog food, and needed something to bolster her strength again. Grace had hardly been eating at all lately. All the food had been going to Kobra's damn dog.

The damn dog was at home waking up at that point, snuffling snot out of its nostrils and slurping at Kobra's face. Kobra snorted thick, wet snot back at the dog, grunting and groaning as he roused himself awake. He mumbled a few words of encouragement to the dog, reaching behind his ears with one hand and beneath its chin with the other, giving him his usual wake up scratches. Kobra stretched up after the fact, scratching under his own armpits and cracking his own spine. He reached over for one of the many cans of Power Pup he'd snatched from the cupboard out there, smirking as he did. Breakfast for him, breakfast for his boy. The can cracked open, and Thrasher started barking even more enthusiastically, tackling Kobra and licking his face. The drool didn't bother him, and he laughed while wiping it off his chin.

"Good boy! Good fuckin' boy!" he said, laughing harder as the dog buried its muzzle in the can of food. Kobra started on his own breakfast shortly after that, Leaning back on Thrasher as they both shoveled food into their own mouths, the desert sun streaking in over them and keeping them not hot, but happily, contentedly warm.

\---

It was roasting in the next room Kobra found himself, a boiler room turned whore's nest out in Zone Two. Prostitutes were easily accessible to the city, but Lea wasn't just a whore. She was Kobra's whore.

"Good girl," he snarled under his breath, grabbing her by the shoulders to brace himself as he fucked deeper into her. "Good little slut," he panted, the skin of her ass slapping hot and wet against his thighs. The room was thick with sweat and sex, and it was revolting.

It was the third night he had come to visit her that week.

\----

In the second month since he had started visiting her, he started taking her out. He stole the car keys from Poison, throwing Thrasher in the back seat, Lea in the front. Thrasher always crawled up to the middle though, lolling his tongue out in the cold wind that came blowing into the car when they went out driving after sundown, which was often now. Gas had gotten cheap, food had gotten pricey. Her hips were sinking in more than they used to, and Thrasher's ribs were showing worse than they used to. Kobra's stomach was always trying to chew its way out of his guts now, but he was coping with it. He was mLeaging. He could deal. He had other priorities.

They got out, finding the usual trailer that they ran off to at this point. Thrasher trotted onto the bed, settling into his usual position in the center. He got kicked to the floor whenever Kobra and Lea took to fucking, but that wouldn't be anytime soon. Not tonight.

"Cold," Lea muttered, wrapping her thin arms around herself.

"It's not that bad," Kobra scoffed.

"You've got a jacket."

"Then you take it," Kobra snapped, wresting himself out of it and throwing it at her. 

She took it, glaring at him as she slid it onto her shoulders. "Stinks like dog."

"You stink like a bitch, too."

"Whatever," she said, obviously disgusted with him. "Any food?"

"Nothing," Kobra said, turning his eyes downward and leaning over his knees. 

Neither half of the couple spoke to each other, just sitting in the dark, dank chill of the trailer. Thrasher turned over on the bed, snuffling roughly once, twice before wresting himself up on his haunches, coughing roughly and hopping down onto the filthy floor. Bending close to the ground, his tongue lolled out as he continued to cough, the sounds getting wetter and more guttural as he sunk lower to the ground. A thick glob of bile fell out of his mouth, then a thicker strange, and finally the sounds reached their loudest as a sizable, dripping bone surfaced from Thrasher's guts, regurgitated from the ugliest depths of his guts. Satisfied with himself, he sat back on his haunches, scratching at his ear with a hind leg.

Meanwhile, Lea was less than pleased. "You're fucking kidding me! You feed your shit ass dog, but you can't--"

"It's not a shit ass dog! Besides, he found that shit on his own, see if you can find your own food, see if you--"

"Oh, fuck you Kobra! Fuck you! You care about your shitty dog more than--"

"Yeah? Well you--"

The two continued to fight and scream at each other, Thrasher ignoring them for the most part and licking up some of his own puke from the floor. He was still hungry, food aside, and he wasn't picky. 

"You wanna have your dog eat shit? I'm gonna eat your fuckin' dog!" Lea finally screamed, wrenching Kobra's gun out of the pocket of her borrowed jacket and aiming easily, firing quickly at Thrasher and sending a sharp blast right through his forehead. The dog whimpered once, head falling to the floor quickly. Dead easily, dead quickly, dead cleanly. Lea was stepping over the trash on the floor, pulling out her knife and running towards the dead beast spread on the ground, still warm, still hot, as good as cooked in her mind.

Kobra stood motionless, stunned for a short time. He watched Lea running, watched her squat ass crouching over Thrasher's body, her hands moving hungrily as she started to make incisions. And then he was beside her, hands knotted in her hair, his own knife taking out and making a swift incision through her neck, a second through her concave stomach, the guts spilling warm over Kobra's hands as he choked out words, ugly and heavy on his tongue. "You wanna eat my dog?! You think you can eat my fucking dog?! I'll eat you, bitch!" he yelled hoarsely as she gasped for air, the last few pants of it squeezing out in panic as Kobra bit deep into her neck, the passion he normally used in hickeys doubled as he wrenched a chunk of it out with his teeth, ripping through the skin as blood ran down his chin.

"Don't fuckin'--don't fuckin' think you're--dumb whore, dumb piece of shit bitch," he muttered to himself, hands moving scattered and shaky across her body, pulling her limp, warm arms from his jacket, carving out chunks of skin where he saw fit and biting through hunks of flesh, hunks of muscle, the metallic taste of blood rich in his mouth. He was starving, having given any food he'd found to Thrasher in the past few days. Thrasher had needed it more, Thrasher had been the one who needed to stay strong. He had been more important. But now, Thrasher was out. Thrasher was fucking dead, and Kobra was fucking hungry. So, so hungry.

He ate until the sun came up, his jacket thrown away from him on the floor as he sweated in the early light of dawn, belly aching and bursting. Lea at his feet was mutilated, unrecognizable with the many places where Kobra's knife had ripped into her skin. Thrasher's body was still clean. It was sticky in a few places with Lea's blood, spilled in a wide puddle all around her, soaked through the knees of Kobra's jeans, but Thrasher just looked as he had ever when he was sleeping. Kobra pulled himself off of the floor, blood crusty and dry on his shirt where it had dripped, and surveyed the ground where the murders of last night had taken their place. Lea was of no consequence to him, a cheap whore who had served him well enough in sexual appetite and later more guttural appetites. She could leave. But Thrasher couldn't be left down on the ground. He couldn't be dumped here to rot.

Crouching down in the bloody mess, Kobra struggled to heave Thrasher up, to saddle the great weight of his former friend over his shoulder. He slowly paced out the door of the trailer, walking and walking, sweaty in the sun for a time he couldn't measure. He found a secluded space eventually, more secluded and kept over by shade than some of the other spots were. He laid Thrasher on the ground, stroking him gently on the snout before he began to move other masses, hauling rocks and arranging them around Thrasher's body until at least some kind of memorial was made. Kobra's stomach rumbled again as he finished, a meaty burp building and bursting in his throat as he exhaled, standing over Thrasher's now enclosed body, the new grave to hold the dog he used to have trotting at his heels. 

Thrasher wasn't gone, but Thrasher wouldn't be moving from this spot ever again. 

As Kobra walked away, he knew he wouldn't be visiting this ugly, sad spot ever, ever again.


End file.
